


Hold Me Tight and See Me True (Fear Still Advised)

by NevillesGran



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Archivist!Jon, Blood, F/F, Hunter!Daisy, The Hunt, salvation via love and occasionally helpful eldritch powers, wolf monster
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2021-01-03 06:49:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21175193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NevillesGran/pseuds/NevillesGran
Summary: Once upon a time, the beast would never have chased the woman who ran down the street and tried to shoot her. Once upon a time, she would have stopped at the sight of her. Once upon a time, she would have wondered at this stupid a move, charging directly into certain death without any backup to be scented.





	Hold Me Tight and See Me True (Fear Still Advised)

Once upon a time, the beast would never have chased the woman who ran down the street and tried to shoot her. Once upon a time, she would have stopped at the sight of her. Once upon a time, she would have wondered at this stupid a move, charging directly into certain death without any backup to be scented.

Once upon a time, there had been more things in the world than hunter and hunted. Not anymore. The beast was a hunter; she snarled as the bullet skidded off her thick hide, and gave chase.

She didn’t run as fast as she could have. She passed up first one opportunity and then another, to make the killing leap. It was more fun this way. It drew out the panting, the blood-pounding, the scent of sweat and adrenaline and _fear_. The woman with the gun ran into an alley and the beast was already there ahead of her, lunging down from the wall, knocking her to the ground. 

The woman gasped something as she fell. A name. A prayer. It was almost familiar—but a lot of people prayed, when the beast caught them—

No, it was more familiar than that. The _woman_ was more familiar than that—

A sound at the mouth of the alleyway caught her attention. A figure stood there, watching. Not a hunter, but a difficult, dangerous catch. She snarled over _her_ prey, digging her claws into the woman’s shoulders until she drew blood. The other monster simply kept watching.

Then he stepped forward, and his eyes saw as much as hers did in the dark night. More. Much more.

“Daisy. What have you caught, there?”

The words reached down past the hunter and the hunted, to a place they could be understood. They reached and they _pulled_. The beast crouched over her prey and growled from deep in her throat.

“I know– _we_ know that’s you, Alice ‘Daisy’ Tonner.” Another step forward, hand extended as though she were a pet to _sniff_ it, and his tone was almost gentle, except for the steel running through it. The choke-chain. “_Tell me who you’ve caught_.”

She whined as she changed, as her throat shortened and so did her snout, her fangs, her hair. Her legs grew and bent and she tried to back away—but what had been prey grabbed her wrist, repeating, “Daisy. Daisy. I’ve got you, Daisy.”

“_Talk to me_,” the Archivist demanded. “_Tell me_—_”_

_“__Basira!__” _Daisy howled. “You were supposed to _kill me_.”

And she collapsed onto her—onto _Basira_, who wasn't her prey; Basira who was bleeding from Daisy's claws in her shoulders and where Daisy had slammed her head into the pavement, scraping off skin even through her hijab. Basira who was holding Daisy's wrist in one hand and wrapping the other arm around her like she never meant to let go. She smelled a little like the Eye and a little like the Hunt and mostly like herself, sweat and blood, old books and a touch of rose shampoo. She was saying, "I couldn't do it—I _won't_ do it, Daisy, I'm _not_ sorry, and I _won't_ do it. We're going to figure this out—"

Daisy was crying and she wasn't sure why, but the words tumbled out. "It was only ever borrowed time, and I wasn't going to let that _thing_ hurt you, or _them_, so— It didn't hurt; it should but it doesn't; it just feels amazing, like I could breathe again. And they _ran_—"

"Jon, let her go," said Basira, looking up, squeezing Daisy around the shoulders. "We can go over all this later, if we have to."

Daisy followed her gaze, as the story continued to be drawn from her lips. Jon stared back with an exquisitely familiar hunger, though he didn't need claws and fangs to rend.

Basira reached up and smacked his leg, and returned her hand to Daisy's back almost as soon as she'd moved. Jon blinked, a cloud flickering past the sun, and then with a grimace closed his eyes and turned his head.

Daisy collapsed, without Beholding's wire puling her taut. Her limbs turned to jelly, to flexing—

She fought it. She bared her teeth against it and then made herself stop. She listened for the quiet, for the empty streets around them, and not the blood (Basira was bleeding; Daisy had done that to her.)

She pushed herself back, up, away. “No. No, Basira, we can’t do this again—it’s _me_, it’s always me, I’ve killed– I don’t even _know_—”

“You killed four people, while you were missing,” Basira said matter-of-factly, pushing herself up on her elbows. “And a ton of stray animals, though that’s harder to track. Seven, counting those two at the Institute and the Stranger thing. Three nights ago, it was two officers, sectioned already—Dawes and Lenton, from the Fifty-First.” She hesitated. “Though Dawes didn’t look quite...”

“She wasn’t. Hasn’t been for a long time.” Daisy ran her tongue over her teeth. The memory of blood was still sweet, and victory sweeter. “But I was faster.”

Then she remembered, remembered again, and scrambled backwards on the pavement. With a Herculean effort, she bared her throat.

“Do it now. While I’m in control.”

“_No_.” Basira lunged forward and grabbed both her hands, callouses against not-quite-gone claws. 

“No,” she repeated. “Daisy, I’m not killing you, I can’t keep that promise. I know it’s still you, it’s always you.” Her voice cracked. "And you're my partner, and I love you."

Daisy shook her head. "It's not—"

“It can _be_ that simple,” Basira insisted. “We all have things we hate about ourselves, things we need to stop, or control. You turn into a ravening wolf monster. I make terrible, risky plans and ignore facts that I don't want to know." She jerked her head at Jon. "_He's_ about two steps away from starting the Watcher's Crown at any moment, these days."

"I may need to finish that statement," said Jon, strained. But his eyes were still squeezed shut and he gave her a weary thumbs up. "Two police cars are coming, to investigate that gunshot. They'll reach us in four minutes."

Basira started to get to her feet, tugging Daisy after her. She winced as it pulled on her shoulders (still bleeding, still so easy to _tear_—)

"Come home," Basira promised, "and we'll figure it out from there. We'll figure it out together."

She needed Daisy's help to stand more than the other way around. Her words were confident but her smile was the smallest and most tentative Daisy had seen, and her eyes were bright with unshed tears. Her grip was more desperate than firm, and even as Daisy's claws dug in, she didn't let go.

Daisy couldn’t bring herself to run away again.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so endlessly enchanted by Jon using his powers to snap people out of Fears they're being consumed by. Also, Daisy and Basira, and gay love piercing through the veil of werewolfism and saving the day.
> 
> Got a favorite line or moment? Comment!


End file.
